


Mother of Rowdies

by AdorableDisaster



Series: The world needs more Rowdy 3. [4]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Amanda in a bathtub nest 'cause why not?, Discussion of Abortion, DrummerWolf, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Lots of things to talk about, Multi, Not a good title., Not sure why I'm writing this., Pack Feels, The Rowdies with improvised weapons, Unplanned Pregnancy, don't know what else to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-12-16 19:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11835495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdorableDisaster/pseuds/AdorableDisaster
Summary: Martin sank to a knee in front of his drummer girl.  Her eyes were red and swollen.  Her nose was running.  Her bangs were messy, like she’d been crying with her head pressed against her arm.  He tilted his head and put his hand out, palm up.Amanda looked at her white-haired Rowdy, kneeling on this chemically clean but still probably gross public bathroom floor.  Sure, she was calm now, but that didn’t mean she was happy.“This can’t be happening.” Tears still leaked from her eyes, rolling in fat drops down her cheeks.Martin reached farther, turning his hand and placing it over her empty one. “We got you, drummer girl. Don’t be scared.”





	1. What's a "pharmacy"? Is it on a farm?

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read my other stories, I have a headcanon that Amanda's infertile for some reason, so I surprised myself when I started plotting this out. I just love her and the Rowdies so much. Why not throw them into ridiculous situations and imagine what they'd do?  
> *I feel the need to mention that I don't actually want this to happen on the show. An unplanned pregnancy is cliche at best most of the time. But, well, I started thinking about it, and I kinda can't stop, so I might was well write it down.
> 
> Update: There will continually be minor edits made to previous chapters as I re-read before writing new ones. Please feel free to re-read as needed <3

Martin and the boys wandered around the pharmacy. They were out in suburbs. The shop was only about 15 minutes from a particular abandoned farmhouse that they had been destroying in stages over the last few months. They were headed there when Amanda had requested the stop, and they Rowdies were almost always happy to help get her what she wanted. 

Vogel still didn’t understand why she wanted to find a “salon” last week. He just cut his hair with a knife like the rest of the boys, except for Martin. His look took a bit more work, but he didn’t smell as good as Amanda when she hopped back in the van. She’d been thrilled. Even a simple haircut was rife with potential triggers, but she’d made it through the visit to SuperCuts without issue. She’d made the boys promise not smash anything if they had to come in and rescue her. It had been a hard promise to make, ‘cause there were a tall windows and a ton of mirrors in the shop, all of which looked very smashable to Vogel. His mind wandered as he moved through the aisles, sticking close to Gripps. They picked up various odd smelling things and put them down again, making funny faces at each other. Next they picked up cartons of hair dye and tried to mimic the poses of the models on the covers.

Cross was nearby, flipping through coloring books covered in puppies and rainbows. 

Martin was somewhere in the cold drink aisle. He was definitely not checking out his reflection in the glass. There was also definitely not a new pack of bandages hidden in his vest pocket. 

The Rowdy boys busied themselves while their 5th member was in the restroom. Martin wasn’t exactly worried, but it had been a little while. He opened the cooler and pulled out an oversized can of iced tea. He was about to crack open the tab, when a wall of fear crashed over him. Salty and overwhelming, like a wave sweeping you off the beach. 

His head snapped up. He scanned the store and breathed in deep through his mouth. He tasted the air, and moved. His eyes rolled over the other Rowdies doing the same. Like meerkats in the desert, they scented the danger and mobilized. Their newfound toys and distractions were abandoned as the moved together, towards each other, and towards their girl. 

Amanda had insisted that they leave their usual tools in the van. She explained how bats and crowbars sometimes scared people in a way that was inconvenient, especially if a nervous manager or concerned neighbor called the cops. They knew Blackwing would be looking for them, and though they hated to be empty handed, the boys were able to follow logic sometimes. 

Not wanting to be empty handed, the Rowdies now grabbed whatever was nearby; canes, umbrellas, and one heavy silver stanchion from the “Order Prescription Here” line ended up in their hands. That rather benign theft may have been enough to send the pharmacist into a tizzy, but when she saw Martin’s boot connect with the Ladies’ Room door, she was definitely done for the day.

The old woman washing her hands was about to shriek at the rude boys who had invaded the space, but the look of determination on their faces was enough to choke the words right out of her. She all but ran from the room, pushing past Gripps with her hands still wet from the sink. 

They could see Amanda’s combat boots under the door of the end stall. Waves of fear had been rolling over them consistently, a tsunami of emotion that made their stomachs rumble and their hearts hurt. Now that they were just a few feet away, they could hear the gasping sobs that wracked their beloved Drummer Girl. 

Martin touched his fingertips to the door. It was hard to tell how lucid she was when she had an attack like this, and he didn’t want to hurt her, but the barrier between them had to go. He stepped back and clicked his teeth at Cross, who brought the silver stanchion down on the little door handle with all his strength. The poor excuse for a lock didn’t put up much of a fight. 

The Rowdies didn’t even have time to be concerned that they might find Amanda in an embarrassing or revealing situation. They just knew they had to get to their girl. They had to eat her fear and keep their promises. 

Another crack at the door, this time an upswing, knocked the bolt out of its hole. The door swung weakly, and Vogel pulled it open, eyes wide and searching. 

Amanda had pulled her feet up when she saw the boys’ boots around the bottom of the door. She sat on the toilet tank, fully clothed and fully desperate. She knew they’d come. Knew her rescue team would assemble, and knew there was nothing she could do to stop this particular meltdown. It had nothing to do with her Pararibulitis, and everything to do with the little plastic stick in her hand. 

There wasn’t enough room in the stall for all of them. Martin stepped forward, and the others each put out a hand, reaching past him to feel and feed. Thick waves of deep, shimmering blue energy rolled into them. It was rich, salty, and almost overwhelming. It was more than the basic panic and fear of bodily harm that they pulled off Dirk and most of their other unwilling participants. It was even more than the usual meal they tasted when they fed from one of Amanda’s attacks. In those instances, the intellectual brain was still aware that the hallucination wasn’t real, but there was nothing that Amanda could do to save herself from the pain of the false reality. It didn’t matter how much she understood her condition - the intellectual brain was powerless against the creative and emotional centers of her mind which were utterly convinced of her severed limb, burning flesh, or screaming lungs. 

The Rowdies didn’t have the time to process this development in the flavor of her fear. This new kind was deeper, more saturated. The animal brain, the fight-or-flight center, was in complete agreement with the intellect, and they were both freaking the fuck out. 

Amanda looked up at Martin. He looked like some kind of south Asian god, surrounded by a halo of open hands and swirling energy. She’d never been really aware for a feeding before. It was pretty trippy.

Martin blinked. There wasn’t usually eye contact when they rescued Amanda. She was always focused on her phantom, or whatever else it was that she saw behind her eyes. He watched the energy flow from her, and although he felt like he’d just eaten a Thanksgiving meal, her expression didn’t change. There was an odd, almost sour aftertaste that had the boys licking their teeth like a dog with peanut butter. Was that… despair? 

Amanda was calm now, but there was no bright smile of relief on her face. She just continued to stare at Martin. One hand was wrapped around her knees. The other held that little plastic wand so tightly that he could see the whites of her knuckles. There were two more of the things on the back of the toilet next to her. He saw little marks that surely meant something. He just couldn’t remember what right now. 

Martin sank to a knee in front of his drummer girl, low and non-threatening. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her nose was running. Her bangs were messy, like she’d been crying with her head pressed against her arm. He tilted his head and put his hand out, palm up. 

Amanda looked at her white-haired Rowdy, kneeling on this chemically clean but still probably gross public bathroom floor. Sure, she was calm now, but that didn’t mean she was happy. 

“This can’t be happening.” Tears still leaked from her eyes, rolling in fat drops down her cheeks. 

Martin reached farther, turning his hand slowly, letting her see his movement like she did for him. He placed his open hand over her empty one. 

“We got you, Drummer Girl. Don’t be scared.”

Amanda blinked slowly. Tears stuck on her eyelashes. With her eyes still closed, she reached her arms out, one hand empty and one hand full. Martin stood, and she wrapped her arms around him. She buried her face in his shoulder, and smelled the familiar dirty leather smell. He slipped an arm under her knees and lifted her with careful effort. Martin side stepped out of the narrow space, and the others fell in around him. 

Vogel burst out of the restroom, startling the assembled staff members, and clearing a path for them. Cross growled at the manager who stopped dialing the phone when a cane flew at his chest. Gripps held the door, and then took up the rear position behind Martin, pointing his newly acquired umbrella at the normals who looked appropriately terrified. 

The Oh No mobile waited for them in the parking lot, ready to whisk the pack to seclusion and safety.


	2. The Oh No Mobile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fluff in the van.

Normally Martin drove at times like these. He liked to be in control, and the others were happy to have him there. But right now, he didn’t want to let go of Amanda. Even handing her to a brother felt like she’d be too far away.

“Cross.” He grunted.

“Yep.” His second jumped into the driver’s seat. 

Gripps opened the sliding door and steadied Martin as he hopped in. 

Vogel threw an umbrella at the window of the pharmacy, making the still-assembled staff yelp and scatter. He wanted to run at the glass himself. Wanted to attack the place that scared his ‘Manda, but he knew it wasn’t the time. Martin didn’t even have to whistle. The youngest Rowdy leapt into the van and glared at the building as they drove away, eyes wide and tongue lolling like a luck dog statue. Gripps put a hand on his shoulder and slammed the door shut as they peeled out of the parking lot. 

While Cross focused on getting them to the broken old house, Martin sank into a cross-legged seat. He curled around Amanda, willing his heartbeat to slow, pressing his calm energy against her. 

Gripps wrapped an arm around Vogel’s shoulders. The younger man was nearly electric with unspent energy. He only knew how to fix things by hitting other things. There was nothing in here he was supposed to hit. The warm, firm pressure of Gripps’ bigger body centered him. It focused him, for now. Gripps lifted his other hand and held it parallel to Vogel’s chest. His little brother made a fist and drove it into the offered palm. Gripps smiled and grunted. Again, Vogel punched at him, first one hand and then the other. He wasn’t using his full strength, and it didn’t really hurt, but Gripps still shook his hand and hissed through his teeth. He released his hold on Vogel then, offering his other hand as a new target. 

Amanda watched all this through a kind of haze. She was tucked against Martin’s chest. He smelled like leather and smoke and sweat and home. Her hair fell across her face, so she saw her brothers through the veil. She watched the sort of aggressive pattycake between the boys, and her tension eased. 

Martin felt rather than saw the smile that eventually cracked her lips. A tendril of fear uncoiled from around his heart. He’d seen Drummer enraged, drunk, manic, and homesick, but not this. She’d never been despondent before. His arms tightened on her as Cross hit a pothole. He was rewarded by Amanda pressing her head into his collarbone for a few seconds. It wasn’t much, but it was intentional, and he knew she was there. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then rested his skull against the bare wall of the van, rocking in the rhythm of their adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read a lot of fics about the Rowdies, especially Vogel, not being neurotypical, and I totally can see that. I'm not sure if it's a part of what makes them empathavores (I made that up and I like it so I'm using it ^.^) or if it's sort of a symptom from their treatment by BlackWing? Either way, I figure they've learned how to help each other cope in times of stress. Since Vogel is the youngest, I think he needs help more often. He's not as experienced in managing his energy and mental state. 
> 
> I love how these characters are growing and evolving in fics and headcanons and I hope Season 2 (oh my gawsh!) continues this growth or even confirms some fan ideas. 
> 
> Also, if anyone else is as not okay as me after seeing the boys caged and bound in the trailer (Cross' hair is so long! Where are Martin's glasses?!), I'll be passing out cookies and blankies in the corner. And maybe a joint or two... And hugs! Lots of hugs for those who want them <3


	3. This Old House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I had more written and I thought I posted it, but I clearly didn't so there's going to be a few new chapters added then who knows when then next installment will be...

Martin carried her upstairs. He slid through an open door with peeling paint. He knew the beds here were broken and moldy at best. They’d uncovered more than one mouse nest on previous visits. Cross walked behind with the blankets and a cushion from the van. Amanda watched with vacant curiosity as her brother built a nest for her in a clawfoot tub. 

Once there was a layer of ugly blankets in the bottom, Martin set her down with the utmost care. Gripps held the pillow until she laid back, and after all their prepping, Amanda decided she was actually pretty cozy in the old porcelain. 

She stared up at the rusty metal ring that had held a shower curtain a few decades ago. She heard more rustling beside her and turned her head to see Vogel offering her a beer. He moved to open it, but Cross put his hand on top of the can and shook his head. Their little brother looked confused. He wanted so badly to help, and this usually helped. He knew when to take a hint though, and he darted out of the room with a supportive thumbs up. Amanda heard the creak of old wood threatening to snap. She was pretty sure Vogel had just slid down the banister. Gripps dropped a large hand on her shoulder. The hot pink nail polish matched her own. He squeezed gently, and Amanda could feel the heat of him through her leather jacket.

Cross produced a 20 oz Ginger Ale from his coat pocket, and Amanda accepted it gratefully. She knew it was stolen, and she was very far from caring.

Martin grunted something about a perimeter check. Cross nodded and took up his position at the side of the antique tub like it was something he’d done a hundred times. 

The window next to her was broken, and she could hear the sounds of Vogel and Gripps tearing loose beams out of the old fence. They’d have a grand fire roaring before it got dark. 

 

Amanda looked at Cross again. His hair fell back where his head was rested against the side of the tub. She studied the thin black line that formed a near perfect circle around his right eye. She wondered, not for the first time, why he had such a simple and yet odd tattoo. She didn’t often ask the Rowdies personal questions, or at least not questions about their past. 

Amanda remembered her encounter with those military guys. “We see you.” Cross had said. She knew he was talking to the assholes in riot gear, but she couldn’t help but feel like he was addressing her too. She felt seen with her Rowdies. Seen as a person and not just a sister, or a daughter, or even worse, a condition. The 3 saw her for who she was. But now… Now that was going to change. 

Amanda sniffled. The tears has stopped mostly. They were now an intermittent trickle instead of a steady stream. 

Cross looked up. His dirty black hair bounced on his forehead. He blinked, expression open and ready. 

Amanda didn’t have any words yet. She just reached up and laid her hand along the top of the tub, palm up. 

Cross smiled, just a little. He slid his hand up and rested it on top of hers, watching to make sure that was right.

Amanda sighed. She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d taken a full, deep breath, so she took another. It hurt a little - her body was sore from her epic sobbing sesh. 

-

She didn’t have favorites among the Rowdies - each boy filled a different role, a different need in her life, with some overlap of course. Vogel was the wild little brother she’d never had. Being a sick little sister meant Amanda had been coddled and protected for much of her life, by both her parents, and then her asshole of a brother. Having someone like Vogel who looked to her for guidance was more empowering that she ever would have expected on that first day she’d jumped into the van. 

The others were all older sure, but none of them had that patronizing big brother attitude that Todd seems to exude sometimes. Gripps was a champion cuddler, was getting much better at painting nails (she’s taught him to avoid the cuticles) and had a surprisingly lovely singing voice. He was nurturing without making her feel small or incapable. Amanda remembered Riggins telling Gripps that his family missed him. Did he have siblings? Or maybe even children? 

Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. Goddammit, brain. She’d barely stopped crying ten minutes ago, and now tears were threatening to spill over her cheeks again. She squeezed Cross’ hand and forced a smile when he squeezed back. 

Cross was special. She’d known that the boys were something amazing and magical after that first day at the grocery store, but he was the first one to have put it into words. He’d made the promise that they all kept. He’d said it outloud. 

“You’re not gonna have to worry about that shit anymore.” 

Her smiled became genuine as she remembered kneeling on that cold concrete while he pulled the nail wounds from her hands. There was probably some kind of biblical imagery there that her community college art history professor would love to unpack for an hour or two… 

Of course Cross wasn’t talking now. Like all the Rowdies, he was good at being in the moment. When you spent every moment with empaths, you often didn’t need words to communicate your thoughts and feelings. He was here, sitting on a dirty and cracked tile floor, leaning against a cold antique, resting his arm at an awkward angle so Amanda had a hold in her crisis. He didn’t need words at all. He was here. He’d always be wherever her “here” was. They all would.


	4. Bathtubs and Numb Butts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there friendos! 
> 
> Just a quick not about Amanda discussing all her options. Abortion has to be discussed, imo. I tried to do it delicately while still being true to the characters. More in the after-story notes.

She honestly didn’t know how long they’d been sitting there. The sun was setting outside and the sounds of Gripps and Vogel destroying things had died down a while ago. At some point, Cross has slid closer to her end of the tub. He rested on the rim now, instead of sitting on the floor, and ran his hand through her hair in lazy waves. Amanda had finally relaxed enough to close her eyes. 

She sensed Martin’s presence even before she heard the creak of the old floorboards. He stood in the doorway, looking at them both. Amanda opened her eyes and saw Cross nod at his brother. He turned back to her and smiled to find her eyes open and clear. He smoothed her hair where his petting had ruffled it and bent over to put a solid kiss on her forehead. Amanda leaned into it, grateful for his quiet strength. 

Martin stepped into the room once Cross stood. He clapped a hand on Cross’ shoulder as they passed in the small space. Amanda pretended not to notice Cross rubbing his backside as he left the room. His entire butt must be asleep after sitting with her on hard surfaces for so long. She smiled again, and was still smiling when she looked up at Martin standing at the side of the tub. He took up Cross’ position, perching on the side of the chipped basin. 

He wanted to ask if she was okay, but knew that was a stupid question. He considered asking it anyway because he had no idea how to start the conversation that would eventually need to happen. He finally settled on simply saying,

“Need anything?”

Amanda sighed. “No.” She pulled her legs up to her chest, making the blankets wrinkle. “Thanks though.”

Martin grunted. He wanted to touch her. Wanted to wrap his arms around her again. Wanted to smell her specific part of the pack scent. But he thought he should wait. He had a lot of thoughts right now. They’d quieted while he took the sledgehammer to a dead tree about an acre away, but they were creeping back in now that he saw her again. 

Amanda watched his face. She saw the twitches that meant he was thinking. Saw the bits of leaves and dirk stuck in his white hair. There was a bit of sap on his left cheek. Some pine tree had taken the brunt of his anxiety. She knew he’d willingly spend hours like this, just sharing her space, but she also knew there was little point in putting off this conversation.

“I don’t know what to do.” Amanda admitted. 

“Don’t gotta right now.” Martin’s hands wrapped over the rim of the tub. 

“I don’t even know how far along…”

Martin didn’t look at her exactly. He just nodded. “Can’t you kinda… math?”

Amanda snorted just a little. “Yea, I supposed I could ‘math’.” 

He looked at her then, his mouth twisting a bit at the corner. 

Amanda leaned her head back against the lumpy pillow and ran the past few weeks through her head. She’d never been exactly regular since she’d started her cycle when she was 13. That monthly guessing game had been exacerbated by the anti-hallucination meds she’d been on since she was 16. Which was why she hadn’t freaked when she’d missed the first period. It was the second month slipping by that had sent her into that pharmacy to find the science sticks to pee on. And now, here she was. Hunkered down in a dirty porcelain bucket with a stupid 'miracle' in her stupid uterus. She was supposed to be able to just enjoy this carefree life with her new pack of friends/brother/lovers. Well, carefree other than secret government agency hunting them. Fuck. This was supremely fucked up. 

Martin tapped his nails on the edge of the tub. He’d felt her slipping.

“Drummer?”

“Yea.” Amanda opened her eyes and blinked a few times. “At least two months.” She said in answer to the original question. 

“Okay.” 

“I need to go to a doctor to be really sure. And to get a better guess.”

“Sure.”

“This is fucked up.” 

“Yep.”

“I’ve been drinking and smoking and breaking shit and riding without a seatbelt and about twelve thousand other things you’re not supposed to do when you’re pregnant.” 

Martin took in a deep breath over his teeth. It was the first time anyone had said the word out loud. 

“You didn’t know.” He finally said. He turned to face her then. 

“Doesn’t matter to the kid if it’s got 3 eyes or no fingers or can't see blue or whatever.” She was on the verge of tears. Again. 

“Don’t think that’s how that works.”

“I know. I took AP Bio.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Amanda ran a hand over her face. “You can ask, you know.”

“Ask what?” 

“Whatever you want.” Her head fell back again, but she looked him in the eyes. “I bet you got a thousand questions too.” 

“Not really.” He gave a half shrug.

“Come on.” Amanda slid back and sat up. She looked as serious as she could while cocooned in stolen blankets. “I’ve run through about a thousand scenarios in my head so far and I’m betting you’ve done the same, so let’s hear it.” 

“It’s all you, drummer girl.” 

“Whad’you mean?”

“What I think don’t matter as much as what you need.”

“Are you trying to be chivalrous? ‘Cause I don’t really need that right now.” 

“What? No.” Martin shook his head. “For real.” 

“For real, I want you to talk and ask questions and shit ‘cause I’ve been sitting in my own head since you pulled me out of that stall and what thoughts I do have are pretty close to panicky, so I’d love some third party input right now.” Amanda looked at her hands and picked at some questionable dirt streaks.

Martin had plenty of thoughts, to be sure, but he truly didn’t know where to start. Luckily for him, Amanda’s word vomit continued.

“Not to mention it most definitely is not just about me anymore, in a very literal way, and someone else in this family gets a whole hell of a lot more say too.”

He needed to ask. He didn’t want to ask. But she needed him to, it seemed. “Who?”

“What?” 

He wanted to snarl. Come on, Drummer. Don’t make this harder. “Who has more say?”

“You mean who’s kid is it?” She looked up at him again. What a glorious conversation she thought she’d never have to have. If she ever saw her doctor again, she was going to punch that guy in the nuts.

“Hnn.” Martin grunted the affirmative.

“Dude.” She sounded sad? “I honestly have no idea.” 

Martin nodded. He didn’t know what he’d hoped for, but he wasn’t completely surprised by the answer.

“Statistically, it’s most likely to be yours… or Vogel’s.” Amanda actually laughed. It was a sort of defeated sound. The idea of Vogel being a father was both beautiful and terrifying. “But yea, I really don’t know. We’re kind of a free-lovin’ bunch.”

Martin just nodded. He loved their little poly pack. Amanda joining them had breathed new life into the family. It wasn’t just the 4 of them on the run anymore. Before, they’d been joined by love and fear and a shared past of trauma and loss. While she shared all that with them, she also brought in music and bad jokes and a connection to the world that made parts of their lives easier. She’d taught them places to look for resources that didn’t involve the risk of a smash and grab. She was a new person to hear old stories that they loved to tell. She was someone to take care of and someone who took care of them. The sex was just a bonus. They hadn’t even considered it when she’d jumped into the van in front of the building where the bald guys attacked. It just felt good to have her around. Their symbiotic relationship had blossomed into this tangle of love and lust and companionship that Martin was suddenly terrified to lose. 

“Doesn’t matter.” was all he said.

“Doesn’t it?” Amanda suspected he felt differently.

“Not really. Won’t likely change what happens.” He wished he had a cigarette, then realized those were probably off limits for a while…

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you gotta decide what you wanna do.” He stood up and stretched his legs, looking for a place to send this nervous energy. “If the kid stays, it’s gonna have all 4 of us to do the Dad thing. If not, well, either way. Doesn’t matter who made it.” He turned towards her and he finished speaking. This was a face-to-face conversation if ever there was one.

Amanda's heart did all kinds of acrobatics at Martin referring to them all being the child's "Dad"s. The sudden visuals were too cute to process right now without another epic sob fest coming on. 

“What do you mean ‘if not’?” Amanda knew what he meant.

“You know you got choices.” Was all he said.

“I can’t do that.” Again with the crying. Fuck it was getting old already.

“It’s up to you.” 

“Stop saying that!” Aw, shit. She didn’t mean to yell at him. 

“Well it is.” She could almost see him dig his heels in. “Like or not Drummer, you’re the most normal among us. We’re not super qualified to make these kinds of calls.” 

Amanda’s brow furrowed. She didn’t think she’d ever been called “normal” before.  
“Seriously?” She asked.

“Yep. You know we’ll follow your lead always.” 

“Even with this?”

“Especially this” He took a step closer. “We’re not the ones who have to cook the bun in the oven for 9 months.” 

Amanda smiled. She wiped the fresh tears off her cheeks.

“Okay, well. I mean, I’m hella pro-choice, but yea. I can’t do that. You know, unless I fucked the kid up so bad already that it’s pieces aren’t going to fit together…”

Martin made a noise that might have been an admonishment or a swallowed laugh.

“... in which case pulling an etch-a-sketch would be its best option, but yea. That’s…”

“Something that ain’t gotta be decided in this second.” Martin finished for her. 

“Well, sooner is better.” 

“Yea, but it’s dark and you’re gonna get cold up here and there’s a fire roaring in the yard.”

“You’re right.”

He stepped to the edge of the tub and placed his palms on the cool ceramic. “So tomorrow we go to that library and use them internet machines you showed us to find a doctor for all that shit.” 

“Ah yes. A ‘that shit’ specialist.” Amanda smiled when Martin raised an eyebrow. He snorted through her sarcasm and stood up. 

“Ready?” He asked,

“Not just yet.” Her smiled faded a bit as she reached out for him. Amanda took his hand in hers and pulled. “Can… can you just sit with me for a minute?”

Martin slipped off his dirty boots without letting go of her hand. He stepped into the other end of the tub and slid down onto the messy blanket pile. Amanda shifted around ungracefully until she was reclined against his chest. They resettled the covers and Martin tucked Amanda in where she was curled between his legs. He ran dirty fingers through her hair and she sighed into his touch.

“Can you say it again, please? I’m gonna need to hear it a lot for a while.” Amanda drew a shaky breath and nuzzled in closer.

Martin dropped a kiss onto her black hair. He rest his cheek there and breathed deep as he wrapped his arms around her. 

“Don’t be scared, Drummer Girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> H'okay. So.  
> I didn't want the conversation to come across as ableist, and I'm open to suggestion if you think it does. What I'm basically trying to get across is her profound fear that her lifestyle has impacted her pregnancy in an irreversibly negative way.  
> Any thoughts or constructive criticism are appreciated!  
> Thanks for reading <3


	5. Who Do You Think Is In There?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for minor medical stuff and NPCs and lots of dialogue, but not with our main characters? 
> 
> This chapter feels a little rushed to me. Please let me know if you find any errors. Once again I have written into the wee hours of the morning and want to post before I go to bed. Probably should beta these... anyone want to be a reader?

They’d found the clinic online. It was all the way in Portland, but the Rowdies had made longer drives for less important reasons. They left as soon as they’d nabbed a few tapes from the library’s sale area for the ride. As far as Amanda knew, the boys had never used the vans’ tapedeck, and what better time than a road trip to a life-changing doctor’s appointment in another state? No one bought cassettes any more, so the librarian was happy to give them to the gaggle of punks for whatever spare change they had dumped on the circulation counter. Amanda was sure she pretty much just wanted them out of the library. The boys had barely contained themselves while she surfed the internet for free prenatal care. She was pretty sure Vogel had started a game of catch with toys in the kid’s section. Cross looked properly admonished when someone cleared their throat loudly in their direction. 

The ride was a surprisingly pleasant one, if a bit odd as their audio choices rolled from fairytales to outdated tax filing advice to the best of Queen. The latter was definitely the favorite, and pretty soon everyone was learning the words to Killer Queen and Fat Bottomed Girls. 

The pulled into the parking lot of the free clinic, still singing until Martin cut the engine. The energy fell abruptly as the reality of the situation hit them. It was time to find out if the little blue “x”s were right, and if there was in fact another Rowdy on the way. They’d agreed last night to put off any further discussion until the existence of the newcomer could be verified or not. 

Amanda took a deep breath. Tonight was either going to be an epic binge of bad choices or a mandatory cuddle pile. She drummed out a quick pattern on her folded knees and then slapped her legs. “Alright, assholes! Let’s roll.”

Anxiety rolled off her in waves, and all the boys felt it. Vogel shook like a dog after a bath. Gripps smiled at them both. He slid open the door and kept a reassuring hand on Vogel’s shoulder as the younger man climbed into the passenger seat. The plan was that Martin and Cross would go in with Amanda while the other two rounded up lunch and met them back here in an hour. It was a good plan. It made sense. Three dirty punks in the exam room was just another Tuesday in Portland, but five might make people notice, and they probably weren’t far enough out of town that their little multicultural gaggle wouldn’t be on Blackwing’s radar if they started raising red flags.

Still, knowing it was smart didn’t make it easier to see the van pull out of the parking lot. Even with Martin and Cross flanking her, Amanda felt the loss of the other two. It was just for an hour, she told herself. Just the scariest biggest deal hour ever, maybe, but still, just an hour.

The three of them entered the office. Amanda filled out forms while Martin glared at strangers and Cross pretended to read a Highlights magazine. He did get particularly invested in the “6 Differences” challenge, as seemed rather proud of himself when he closed the pages. 

They were called surprisingly fast, and the trio found themselves wedged into a small but clean exam room. A nurse in faded rose-colored scrubs entered shortly afterwards and started turning on machines. She smiled the tired smile of someone who worked too many hours for too little pay but still tried really hard to care. She sat on a rolling stool to review their paperwork and asked Amanda clarifying questions. 

The woman flipped to the last page and looked up. For the first time she seemed to really see the men in front of her. Her eyes lingered on their visible tattoos, but after a cursory glance she turned back to her notes. 

Martin stifled a growl. He was used to being judged. The opinions of the mundanes mattered less to him than rain on his windshield. But he cared about Amanda. Through all her attacks, he’d never felt her be as vulnerable as these last 24 hours, and if this lady with the name tag was going to try to make his Drummer Girl feel “lesser,” well… she could expect a bit ol’ helping of his boot to her face. Cross looked over Amanda’s head and the men’s eyes met. Martin knew his brother felt the same. He rolled his neck a bit and put a hand on their girl’s shoulder. 

After a little more explanation, the nurse proceeded to take several vials of blood. With a Rowdy on either side of her, Amanda tried hard to stay calm. She knew it must be killing them not to be able to eat her fear, but that was probably more than even a free clinic nurse could take this early in her shift. She’d never been a fan of needles, but after years of being poked and tested and evaluated in settings just like this one, she was fairly used to it. 

The nurse was labeling the samples when Amanda finally said anything that wasn’t a direct response to a question being asked.

“Is that it?” Amanda was surprised by the sound of her own voice. It was clear, if a little squeaky. 

“You want more paperwork?” the nurse asked. Was she teasing them? Weren’t people supposed to be afraid of the Rowdy 3?

“No. I just. I mean. I expected more… personal questions.”

“Sweetie, I just took your blood and we’re about to take pictures of your insides. It’s gonna get plenty personal.” 

“No. I mean I know that. I just thought…”

“You want me to ask who the father is and get some juicy details on your love life? ‘Cause neither one of you look like a brother or concerned youth pastor...” The nurse pointed her pen at either man in turn and then smiled at Cross. He did his best not to snarl at her but he definitely showed some teeth.

“No! Well, I don’t want that. I just figured…” Amanda stuttered.

“I know. Listen. Your history here says you haven’t been living all that healthy, but it also seems like you’re willing to make some changes based on your answers. I don’t see track marks on anyone, you don’t have the shakes, and no one is jaundiced. Those tattoos aren’t the best quality I’ve seen, but they don’t look infected so I’m not as worried about you all as I am about a lot of our other clients. Remember, boys, you get what you pay for with tattoos.”

Amanda’s eyes were wide. She felt a rumble down Martin’s arm. Had she just heard this apparently normal woman give the Rowdies tattoo advice? She would have laughed if it happened in any other setting. 

“Hun, we’re here to help, not judge. Knock off the drinking and everyone stop smoking,” when she said this she actually pointed a finger at Martin, “and you’ll be doing better than half the people I see.” 

All three of the Rowdies stared at this powerhouse in pink before them. She smiled a no-nonsense smile and then sighed happily, satisfied with her lesson being delivered. Amanda could not wait to tell Gripps about this exchanged. She smiled a real, not-just-nervous smile, for the first time since they’d walked in. 

The nurse smiled too and placed her hand on Amanda’s knee. 

“You don’t have to drink green smoothies everyday and buy organic diapers from boutique stores to be a good mom, hun. Just try your best and call someone if you need help.” She patted the ripped denim and stepped back. 

“That is if there’s even somethin’ in there! Doctor will be in in a minute and we’ll know for sure!”

She scooped up Amanda’s file and swept out of the room, already on to her next task an completely unphased by Project Incubus. 

The three of them sat and stood respectively in a daze. So far, this visit was not going as expected.

\---

It seemed like forever until the Doctor entered. It was probably about 15 minutes. They mostly sat in silence after a brief “what just happened?” discussion when the nurse left. Martin huffed about the cigarettes, but agreed to talk more after. 

Then suddenly it was go time. Amanda was laying on her back with her almost-but-not-quite-flat stomach exposed to the cold office air and the Dr was squirting something that felt like greek yogurt but smelled a lot different on her belly. 

A rounded wand was pressed against her hard enough to mean business, and grey static filled the funny-shaped screen on the monitor. 

Martin held her right hand, and Cross held her left. They looked so wildly out of their element in this sterile room that Amanda nearly laughed. Not to mention the contrast of their dirty black clothes opposite the starched white of the doctor’s coat. Amanda wished she’d brought a camera. Maybe they’d try to get a polaroid somewhere to document the surreal moments like this.

A thumping sound interrupted Amanda’s thoughts. It wooshed quickly and rhythmically. It was faint, but it filled the room. 

“There we go.” The doctor said. Her expression was pleasant and carefully neutral. “There’s the heartbeat.”

“Holy shit.” Amanda gasped. She hadn’t cried all morning, but tears sprang to her eyes, ready to deploy with or without her consent. She couldn’t look at either of her boys. She just squeezed their hands tighter.

“Let’s see what we can see.” The doctor started moving the funky paddle around in little circles. She finally settled on an image of a weird little bean about an inch and a half long. “I’d say your guess is right. You’re about 8 to 10 weeks along. So, we can figure out your due date if that’s the route you want to take, or I can make another appointment to…”

“No.” Amanda cut her off. “Thanks. Er. Just. No.” The doctor just nodded and pressed a button. The image froze and the thump-woosh sound stopped pumping through the room, but Amanda knew she’d never stop hearing it. 

“Can we just. Have a minute?” She asked. 

“Sure thing.” the doctor wiped the not-yogurt from Amanda’s skin with practiced ease and a lot of paper towels. “Do you want me to print out any of these before I go?” She gestured toward the screen where the silver bean was still sitting.

“Um, yes.” Amanda’s eyes were glued to the screen. “Five, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is in reference to one of my favorite Firefly episodes. Do you know which one?


	6. Healthy Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the van. There are sandwiches to eat and conversations to be had.

It was Portland. There were a dozen weird little farmer’s markets within walking distance. Gripps and Vogel had made short work of their task. They sat in the open side of the van, feet swinging as they each picked at a seitan burger with sprouts and vegan mayo. Vogel didn’t know what most of those words meant, but the person who’d made them was super cute and was willing to accept a few patches from their jackets in trade for the food.

Gripps thoroughly enjoyed his weird crunchy plant sandwich thing. Could you call it a burger if there was no meat in it? Whatever it was, it tasted good. It was fun to eat real food sometimes. He laughed at Vogel, who was pulling sprouts out of his lunch and wearing them on his lip like a mustache. 

The crunch of heavy boots on broken pavement alerted them that the rest of the party had returned. Amanda was holding a little envelope like it was made of gold but might bite her. Scary but important. She looked at Vogel’s sprout-stache and burst into laughter. The joyful noise rolled over them. Gripps watched his brothers’ shoulders ease, just a little. He hopped to his feet and put out a hand to help their girl into the van. 

“Boys.” Martin was holding the bag from the market. “What is this?” He sniffed and grimaced. 

“Lunch!” Vogel announced. His exclamation unsettled the sprouts and he began trying to work them over his lip and into his mouth without the aid of his hands, because he was Vogel. 

Cross climbed into the vehicle behind Amanda. He took the bag from Martin who leapt in after him. Gripps shut the door and moved around to the driver’s seat. He’d assumed Martin would want to drive again. Martin was always most comfortable behind the wheel. But when the blond Rowdy didn’t make a move towards it, Gripps knew it was time to take the helm again. He clicked his seatbelt in and spoke to the rearview mirror. 

“It’s healthy! Rainbow said so.” 

“Rainbow?” Martin’s voice was rough.

“Yep! Rainbow is very pretty. Or handsome. Rainbow is nice to look at and they liked my jacket and they said this stuff was good to eat.” Vogel chattered on, holding his now-leaking sandwich with one hand. 

“Healthy.” Martin grunted. 

“‘Manda needs healthy food, right?” Vogel took a bite. He knew he wasn’t supposed to talk with his mouth full, but it was a weird day and manners were weird things. “For the baby.” He chewed and swallowed. “I mean. Is there a baby?”

The van was quiet except for the creaks of the old metal as Gripps swerved to avoid a pothole. Cross and Martin just looked at Amanda. 

The Drummer girl looked at the yellowish envelope still in her hand. She turned it over once, then twice. 

“Yea, man.” She looked up at Vogel, and then at the rear view mirror to meet Gripps’ eyes. “Yea there is.” 

Vogel whooped. A bit of mayo hit the ceiling. He put the sandwich down and sat on his hands, vibrating with excitement. Amanda laughed again. 

“Wanna see it?” She asked.

“What? Like now? It’s not ready yet, is it? It’s not cooked?!” Vogel looked around the van like there was an infant waiting to pop out and yell “surprise!”.

“Kid.” Martin said. His voice was grounding to the youngest Rowdy. 

“Here.” Amanda slid onto the floor next to Vogel. She pulled the ultrasound photos out of the envelope and passed one over. 

Vogel took the image in his dirty hands. He turned it upside down, then flipped it over and then back the right way. “Where is it?” He asked. 

“That’s it.” Amanda gestured to the picture. “Right there in the middle.” 

“That’s not a baby.” Vogel was confident. “That’s. Like. A slug?” He poked at the picture as though he could get it to do something other than just be there.

“Dude.” Amanda huffed at him. “The kid’s like barely formed. It doesn’t even had ears or hands or any of that yet.” She rocked her shoulder against his. “But it’s not a fuckin’ slug.” She stuck her tongue out at him.  
Martin and Cross watched this exchange from one of the red benches. They were pressed against each other, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder. Both ate their weird ass crunchy hippy things in silence. They watched Amanda teaching vogel all the things the doctor had told them in the office. The baby wouldn’t look really human for another few weeks, and then once it did, it was just all about getting bigger. They were supposed to come by in a few days to check on the results of Amanda’s blood work, but everything looked and sounded normal so far.

Martin finished eating and crumpled the wax paper or whatever it was that the salad sandwich came in. He tossed it to the back of the van. He looked up at Gripps driving and could see the tension in his brother’s hands on the wheel. Martin let out a deep breath and leaned into Cross. There were going to be a lot of weird emotions rolling through them for a while. 

Cross tilted his head into Martin’s. He soaked in the comfort and then nudged the other man with his shoulder. They’d had their moment. He was content for now. Gripps needed someone. 

Martin took the hint and stood carefully. He put out his hand and Amanda placed another of the ultrasound printouts in his palm. He nodded at her. 

Martin slid between the dangling chains and dropped into the front seat. He pulled a bit of chewed gum off the air vent and rolled it up into a sticky ball. Then he used that to stick the picture of their newest member in the center on the dash, where Gripps and everyone else could see it. Martin watch a few tears roll down the driver’s cheek. He understood. Family.

“She’s gonna be a great Mom.” Martin’s voice was thick and low.

Gripps took a shaky breath. “I know.”


	7. Month 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which "It" gets a nickname better than "It".

There were a lot of National Parks in the Pacific Northwest. Some of them were free to get in to, and most had camping spaces carved out between the trees or along the rivers.

They were sitting on carefully placed fallen logs. Empty pizza boxes were burning on the fire. 

Cross let loose a burp that rattled pebbles and scared at least one bird out of a nearby tree.

“Niiiice.” Gripps laughed and raised his drink. It was the first time in a long time that it wasn’t a can of beer. He hadn’t heard of this kind of soda before, but it had no caffeine and a lot less sugar and Amanda was allowed to drink it, so they were drinking it too. It wasn’t all that good, but the bubbles made for some epic gas expulsions. 

Amanda tilted her head back and ripped her own impressive belch. She laughed at the smattering of applause and cheers of encouragement. Then she rubbed her chest and grimaced.

“Fuck. I could really do without the heartburn.” 

“There’s some of those chalk things in the van.” Martin was already on his feet, headed toward the open door. He grabbed Amanda’s backpack and brought it over to her. She blew him a kiss and rifled through it for some antacids. They were quickly becoming her regular after-dinner mint. 

“You okay?” Vogel asked. His voice was sweet.

“I’m good.” Amanda lifted her hands, palms out. If she’d thought the boys were protective before, it was nothing compared to their new policy of checking in every ten seconds..

“Is it good?” Vogel gestured towards her with his can, spilling a little on the hard-packed ground.

“I mean, it’s not much of a conversationalist, but yea, I think we’re okay right now.” 

Martin’s lip curled in an almost smile. “We something better than ‘It’.” he said.

“Huh?”

Martin laced his fingers together and wrapped them around the back of his head. He leaned back and looked up at the stars.

“Just sayin that ‘It’, ain’t a great name for the kid.” 

“That’s not its name, is it?!” Vogel looked surprised and concerned.

“No. We are not calling the kid “It”.” Amanda assured him. She could see Gripps and Cross smiling across the fire. She looked around the campfire. This past month had been a weird one to say the least. On some days, it was like her world had been turned upside down, again. On other days, when the heartburn went away and she wasn’t exhausted, well, it was almost like nothing had changed. And then she’d see the unused tampons in her bag or the bottle of pepto in the seat-back-pocket and reality slammed back down. 

She’d tried to consider a name a few times, but she just wasn’t up for it yet. 

“We don’t need a real name for like six months.” She offered. 

Martin seemed to sense her hesitation. “Not a real one. Just something to call it.”

“Yea, people do that.” Gripps piped up, his voice soft.

“Sure. That makes sense.” Amanda thought of her friend in high school who got pregnant. She’d called the baby “Nugget” before it was born. That wouldn’t do…

“So, not just ‘kid’, or ‘baby’?” Cross chimed in. Those words still sounded odd to Amanda when coming from a Rowdy mouth. She supposed she had about 6 months to get used to those too.

“Naw. I think it’s supposed to be something cute or unique.” She explained.

The next 15 minutes were filled with the Rowdy 3 throwing out the names of their favorite kinds of beer, preferred pizza toppings, and various bands. While they agreed that they had good taste in food and entertainment, none of the ideas were anywhere near suitable as a nickname for their collective child. 

Amanda was practically in tears after Vogel’s suggestion that they could call the baby “Pepperoni” because in his words: “‘cause it’s not much bigger than a slice right now, right?”

“Okay, I think we need a new tactic here.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, still laughing. “No more food ideas, a’right? I can’t risk gettin hungry or nauseous every time we talk about the thing, ‘cause I’m pretty sure that’s likely to happen anyways.” 

She caught her breath and looked around at her happy pack. It was the first time in a while that she’d felt so relaxed. It was nice to know she could still feel this way. That thought sparked another, and she had an idea.

“What about ‘Pup’?” She smiled. 

Martin’s head came forward. Gripps nodded to his feet. Cross stopped drawing in the dirt with his stick. Vogel lit up like a firework. 

“Like a puppy?!” His smile was electric.

Amanda chuckled. “Yea, like a puppy. We’re a pack of weirdos aren’t we? Makes sense we’d be having a Pup.” 

“Perfect.” Martin breathed the word out. He hadn’t needed the explanation.

“Wait, but you’re not having a puppy, right?” Vogel asked. 

Amanda laughed again and threw her empty can of better-than-beer-but-still-not-exactly-healthy-for-you soda at him. She was happy with her pack. She wondered how the Pup would fit in, but that was a worry for another night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, friend. I live for kudos and I will reply to comments. I am grateful for you!


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